Beds of Pebbles
by Gina Mary
Summary: They say, you're always safe in your own bed. A certain blonde girl would beg to differ...Set in the middle of the disaster that was S6 angsty BS. COMPLETE
1. Envelopes to Open

_**Beds of Pebbles**_

_Summary: Chucky's dad on 'Rugrats' says that you're always safe in your own bed. However, a certain blonde begs to differ... Set in the middle of disaster that was Season 6. Angsty B/S (what else can it be?)  
__Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all associated with it belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing.  
__A/N: Spontaneous fiction I couldn't stop from bursting out of me when I was watching 'Rugrats' with my nephews. The name in the brackets is just to indicate who I'm dealing with in what chapter. Very short, three chapters, indefinite ending. Still reading it? Then let me know what you think. _

**_1. Envelopes to Open (Riley)_**

Buffy couldn't shake off the light prickling sensation at the base of her spine.

It was strange. Her body was tired from working all day at DoubleHell but her mind kept expecting more noise and activity as it approached her house on Revello Drive, knowing the house would be the hotspot for all the wedding plans, now that the Magic Box would be closed for the night.

It wasn't exactly a comforting thought.

But as she walked through the silent streets, Buffy focused, for the first time in weeks, on herself. Other evenings were spent patrolling or on... _dates_ with Spike, after all. But today, Spike had said he'd cover patrol. She didn't know how he knew she was getting so tired lately that she thought she'd pass out, but he did.

Oh, wait. She probably could guess the reason. He'd hinted that her last 'performance' hadn't been so good. When it was Spike... he wasn't talking about her patrols.

Anyways, she thought as she dragged her feet down Main Street, it was the weekend and she had a break from work, and a break from her secret boyfriend, with who every second she spent charred her soul. She was tired, mentally, physically, emotionally. Buffy knew she needed a day or two off. From _everything_.

It wasn't meant to be.

From years of heading there after college and school when she was on Main, her feet drew her automatically to Espresso Pump. Before she knew it, she was standing there, looking into the café, wondering what, exactly, she should do now that she was there. Looking around, Buffy saw that her favourite red chair was untaken, a rare for a Friday night. She had just started moving towards it when a boy grabbed the chair and dragged it over to where another was. As Buffy watched, a young blonde collegiate smiled and lowered herself into Buffy's red chair.

Buffy felt it like a slap across her face. That was something Riley used to do for her. With the same chair. They'd headed over to the Pump so many times, the waiters knew them by face. She'd met him here during that Thanksgiving when she hadn't known he was a soldier. She'd met him on this road near the wedding shop when she was engaged to Spike. She had so many memories with Riley here...

Abruptly, Buffy turned around. Her hair, tight in a ponytail, whacked her in the face as she tightened her dark shawl around her slight frame. Suddenly, she felt cold...

When she reached home, Buffy was surprised to see everyone asleep.

Xander and Anya were tangled with each other – clothed, thankfully – on her couch. Willow snored on the carpet near the coffee table and Dawn had passed out in her armchair, English homework half done on her lap.

A smile spread across Buffy's face. It was late. Buffy Summers, queen of the undead, had stayed out late. Not surprising, but then again, it was. Because she hadn't staked anything – except a beef patty – today.

Rather, Buffy, after the emotional encounter at the Espresso Pump, had headed to the Bronze. She had picked out good clothes, thankfully, and her uniform was in her locker at work. Tight black jeans, white sleeveless top and a black silk shawl – not bad. She'd let her hair loose and worked a tiny bit upon her eyes. She'd spent her week's earnings on a couple of tequila shots and had danced with some boys that would be in her year if she were at college. One even recognised her. Mindless body grinding to bad music and alcohol – good times. Buffy had fun.

The world would end any second, now.

But that sensation hadn't gone away.

Hanging up her shawl at the coat hanger, Buffy approached Dawn and quietly, softly, picked up her sister. It was a tough job, because Dawn wasn't five feet tall anymore. A low 'oof' escaped the Slayer as she carried, slowly, her sister, up the stairs.

With her foot, Buffy pushed open the door to Dawn's purple room. Thanking whoever was responsible for putting the bed near the door, Buffy was lowering her sister onto the mattress when her strength gave out. Her eyes widened as her arms fell back and Dawn fell onto the mattress with a bounce.

"Ouch!" Dawn yelled and Buffy winced. As her sister woke up, her expression didn't change. A frowning Dawn opened her eyes and looked around through sleepy eyes, sitting up and rubbing her back. "What happened?" Her voice was drowsy with sleep and tinged with confusion.

"You fell asleep downstairs, Dawnie," Buffy told her sister, expression unchanging. "Just bringing you up here..."

"Oh." Dawn stopped rubbing her back. "Well, goodnight, then." And lay back down to go to sleep again.

Buffy stood where she was, pressed against the door, for a long time. Then, making sure Dawn was asleep, she moved to switch off the lamps when her eyes fell upon a stack of letters lying on Dawn's bedside table.

She frowned when she noticed that her name was written on the top envelope. Picking it up, Buffy wondered if she really entered Dawn's room that rarely, now. As she slipped the letter out of its envelope, she looked around the room, wondering why she hadn't noticed the changes. The many trinkets and knick-knacks Dawn hadn't had before, the pile of clothes that were too slutty to be given even to Goodwill... Buffy bit her lip as she realized, once again, that she needed to spend more time with her sister.

Just as she made that decision, Buffy noticed Dawn's tack board. A picture of Dawn, Spike and Joyce was stuck there. Buffy's throat tightened. She moved to the next one. Dawn and Spike, sitting together, with a separate picture of Buffy sitting tacked next to it. It looked like Dawn had tried to make it one picture. Buffy's heart twinged, and she directed her attention to the letter as means of distraction.

She frowned again when she saw what it was. A typed out letter. She skipped the formal beginning, but her eyes grabbed the main line straight away.

_Riley Finn would like to express his deep condolences upon the demise of Miss 'Buffy' Elizabeth Summers._

Buffy dropped the letter like it was hot coal and took a stumbling step back. That's what she got for poking her nose where it wasn't required. Her eyes, wide and wild, looked at the piece of paper as though it was a formidable demon. And then she did something she'd never do if it was a demon.

She ran.

She ran, stumbling through the hallway to her own room. She shut the door with a bang and trembling hands when she entered it, uncaring that she might wake the entire house. Shaking, she sat down on the edge of her bed, elbows on knees, head in hands, and took deep, unsteady breaths.

She didn't know how long she sat like that. When she put her head back up, she looked into the mirror and saw a completely different person from the one who had just danced wildly at the Bronze.

This person looked dead.

Ignoring her image and her thoughts, Buffy walked to her closet and pulled out a pair of shorts and a jersey. Stripping off, she pulled on her night clothes, resolutely thinking of work instead of Riley. She was doing the same when she slipped between her sheets and shut her eyes.

But she woke up in half a minute.

Buffy had calmed down, mostly, when she realized she used to sleep in this bed with Riley. Her eyes snapped open and she jumped up, taking the silk sheets with her. Then she realized that the sheets, too, were a gift from Riley. She dropped the sheets. Then she realized that Riley had been in this room with her, alive, so many times. So many kisses, so many words. So much love, on both parts, different, but still love.

And when she'd died, he'd sent a typed out letter to her family.

She couldn't take it. She grabbed a stake from her dresser and snatched the first shoes she could find. Walking quickly but silently down the steps, Buffy entered the kitchen and scribbled a note about staying out for slayage. With a last look towards the living room and her friends, she slipped out the back door and put on the shoes.

Which turned out to be stilettos.

Moaning, Buffy started moving, legs bare till mid thigh where her black shorts began. She walked quickly, her feet hitting the pavement and ground in rhythm with her heart beating in her chest. She hoped he'd be home. She needed him badly, now.

She knew he was home the second she entered the cemetery. She could feel it – he'd been around, recently. Apart from the lingering smell of smoke in the air, a silver lighter lay beside a tombstone, and Buffy wondered why he'd dropped it. She bent and picked it up, holding it between her fingers to look at it before moving towards the crypt again.

Her feet slowed down, now, but her heart sped up. She swallowed down the thought that he'd poke fun at her. It was hard to do that, but she managed. She approached the crypt silently, her heels sinking into the damp mud.

The windows gave away the soft light that came with candles. Scented candles, she realized as she sniffed the air, the kind he lit only when she was around. The kind he'd lit right now.

The door squeaked slightly as she entered. Her eyes, accommodating to the glow of the candles that was dim when compared to the moonlight, blinked. She looked around for him, but realized he wasn't there. She waited a moment, wondering if he'd lumber over to her, then moved towards the ladder that led to the lower level.

As she slipped off the stairs, she noticed him straight away. He was sitting, shirtless, on his couch, wrapped up in a throw she'd got from the house, candles and lamps around him lit as he read. He looked up as she approached, a frown marring his brow.

"Slayer?" He asked, putting his book down. "'s wrong?"

"Nothing, really." She stood beside the couch, hands in her pockets, hair all around her shoulders.

"Then what're you doin' here at this hour, pet? You know it's two thirty?" His eyes swept her scrappily clothed figure and he smirked. "Ohhh," He drawled, his worried gaze turning lascivious. "Couldn't sleep without a round, eh? Didn' even put a bra on?"

Buffy suddenly felt foolish. What had she thought? That she'd come here, looking for tender comfort, and he'd give it to her? She swallowed. He didn't care for her. He thought he did but all he wanted, in the end, was her body. Wasn't he the one who'd said that the only thing better than killing a Slayer was fucking one?

She turned red under his gaze. "No, I'm sorry," She mumbled, not meeting his eyes as she tried to back away. "S-sorry to disturb you, Spike... my bad. Be going, now..."

She turned and reached for the ladder. Suddenly, Spike grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her around to face him. Buffy, though she refused to look into his eyes, could see his confusion. "Buffy," He demanded, voice firm, "What's the matter? You're never one to back away -- what's goin' on?"

Buffy didn't say anything, just resolutely looked at the floor.

Spike reached up and held her jaw, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I told you to take the night off, Slayer. And you show up here?" He didn't break eye contact as he asked, his tone much gentler, "Luv... is something wrong?"

The love and worry finally crept through his cold exterior. Buffy felt the wall she was trying to hold up shatter and tears rushed to her eyes. Looking away from Spike so he wouldn't notice, she said unsteadily, "I-I just wanted to see if y-you were okay..."

Spike laughed. It was a humourless laugh, but it wasn't cruel, just matter-of-fact, like his voice when he said, "Buffy, pet, this entire relationship is to make you okay. We were both clear on that till yesterday." He softly caressed her cheek, letting go of her jaw. "Where do I come in?"

Buffy didn't have a reply to that.

Spike sighed. "Tell me what you need, luv." One of his hands held hers and brought it up to his lips. "Let me make it better." He mumbled across her knuckles.

Buffy looked up at him through pleading eyes, then. He saw her eyes sparkling in the candlelight and his eyes widened when he saw she was crying. "Spike," She pleaded, "Please... I just want to stay here with you, tonight."

He hadn't dropped her hand till then. Now, as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped, her hand fell from his.

Her eyes stung at his reaction. "Alright," She told him, "I understand..." She started backing away and only when she reached the ladder did he recover his senses.

"Buffy!" She turned to look at him from where she stood on the third rung. He walked over, face blank, hands crossed over his chest. He regarded her expressionlessly and said, in an equally flat tone, "Are you sayin' you want to stay the night without having sex or anything?"

Buffy wondered why he seemed so guarded. Carefully watching his expression, she nodded.

He said nothing, but his eyes seemed doubtful.

Sighing, Buffy said, "Spike, I couldn't sleep. You're right. I need it for me. But this time... I just want to be with you."

The look of pure joy that blossomed on Spike's face was unrivalled. She'd never seen him so happy... heck, she'd never seen anyone so happy. He grabbed her around the legs and said, "Well, why're you standing over there, then! Come on, must be tired!"

He carried her to the bed and gently set her down. Buffy laughed when he poked her in a ticklish spot and then lay down next to her. He pulled her close to him and she pillowed her head on his bare chest. He played with her hair and, whenever she looked up, he wore a tender smile that equalled the one he had on when he'd seen her that day she'd come back.

A part inside her was glad that she had made him smile that smile of joy and content without dying and coming back. In his arms, the idea was a joke because she was safe in his arms. Riley and his letter were a joke in Spike's arms because Spike wasn't going away. A wave of peace she hadn't felt after the night she'd jumped off the tower washed over her, and she was amazed that heaven was possible in Spike's arms.

He whispered things into her hair, things he whispered to her at night after their coupling when he thought she was asleep. She listened to them, now, counted all the nicknames he had for her, and just when she was drifting into la-la-land, she realized that the feeling she'd had all day was gone.

"Spike," She asked suddenly, "Did you follow me today?"

She could feel his frown. "No, Buffy, 'course not. Told you 'was givin' you a day off, didn' I."

She smiled as her suspicion was confirmed. She said 'okay' to him and had been quiet for a long time, making him think she was asleep, when she said, "Spike, I missed you today."

And the prickling sensation was gone, in its place a blossom of warmth as she watched Spike smile at the truth of her words.


	2. Petals to Pluck

_**Beds of Pebbles**_

_Summary: Chucky's dad on 'Rugrats' says that you're always safe in your own bed. However, a certain blonde begs to differ... Set in the middle of disaster that was Season 6. Angsty B/S (what else can it be?)_

_Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all associated with it belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing._

_A/N: Spontaneous fiction I couldn't stop from bursting out of me when I was watching 'Rugrats' with my nephews. The name in the brackets is just to indicate who I'm dealing with in what chapter. Very short, three chapters, indefinite ending. Still reading it? Then let me know what you think. _

_**2. Petals to Pluck **(Angel)_

"I'm home!"

The words, punctuated with the sounds of a slamming door, filled the empty house on Revello Drive. The door frame rattled behind the Slayer as she walked in, pulling her gloves off and rubbing her hands together to heat them up. When they were slightly warm, she realized that nobody had answered her call. Frowning, she headed to the kitchen.

"Dawn? Willow?" Peeking around the doorframe of the empty kitchen, Buffy said, "Guys? Anyone home?" She walked to the centre of the room and looked around, trying to see if anyone else had been over that night, when she noticed a sheet of paper hanging from the fridge by a magnet.

Walking over to it, Buffy pulled off the note and read.

_Hey, Buff, _it said in Willow's cursive script, _taking Dawnie out with some friends of hers and Xander. We'll be late, so we'll stay at Xander's, which is closer from the Bronze. Hope you have a good night!_

With a sigh, she crumpled the letter in her fist and threw it over her shoulder into the wastepaper basket. She remembered sanctioning Dawn a leave from her grounding for today. She'd forgotten that. Pulling open the door to the fridge, Buffy grabbed the container of leftover macaroni she saw and heated it up.

As she watched the food go round and round in the microwave, Buffy wondered why she had felt a slight disappointment when she had found nobody to be home. She'd come home early just to spend time with Dawn and Willow, like she had promised herself she would a few weeks ago.

Buffy fought a shudder as she thought of that night. She'd hated it, feeling so displaced and vulnerable. That's why, when Spike had been tender the next time they'd got together, she'd messed it up with harsh remarks that made no doubt in his mind that her coming to him for comfort that wasn't of the flesh kind was just a fluke. They'd gone back to exchanging harsh words that hurt, falling back with ease into a ritual they'd established over the years, this year's addition being the sex afterwards.

But it still hurt. Whether familiar or not, this ritual hurt even more now that she'd given them the briefest hiatus of that night. Whenever she let him hit her, she remembered the soft touch of his callused hand on her hair as the rebukes and insults transformed into the sweet nothings he'd whispered that night. She wished she had let him get closer. She wished she could let him get closer. But whenever they got close... they left. And Spike was someone she never wanted to lose. Even if there was pain and anger, as long as he was there, it would be okay.

She was being selfish, she knew, watching her cheese pop and sizzle in the microwave. But as Spike had said, wasn't that what their relationship was about? One sided comfort, that's all it was. That's all she'd meant it to be.

But somehow, now, she was wondering if that was okay. She knew she needed this, badly, but... couldn't she take what she wanted from Spike and give him a bit, too? Was it really impossible? Did their relationship have to be all about her, only?

It didn't. It didn't have to be about her; it could be about them, about him and her. But that would bring them closer, would make him love her more... and if – no, _when_ they broke up, he would hurt so much he'd leave town.

Because in spite of the madness she was swimming in, Buffy knew that she'd have to break up with Spike one day. And if she kept a distance between them, he wouldn't be in too much pain later. Everything that came near her was destroyed sooner or later, anyways. Even Xander, Willow and Giles – they were all just slowly decaying away. Giles had run away from her for the same reason. She was just sparing Spike the pain that came before the ultimate destruction.

So, yeah, she wanted to be closer to him, but she couldn't, for his own good. She was doing it all for him.

The lie didn't even sound convincing in Buffy's own head.

Thankfully, the microwave beeped and she was spared deeper thoughts. She pulled out the dish, burning her hands in the process, and drawing out her time in applying the antiseptic cream to it, ignoring the part of her head that rebuked her for her cowardice.

When her palms were lathered in cream and the dish was relatively cooler, Buffy put it gingerly onto a tray and went to the living room where she sat, with the TV turned on, watching Baywatch without actually seeing it.

She realized she finished her food when her spoon hit the empty bottom of the plate. She looked down at the plate devoid of its food, and sighed. Zoning out, again. She hadn't done that in a while. And not a lot when Willow and Dawn were around. She knew, now, that she had to be tough for them. After all, with Willow's addiction and Dawn's recently revealed kleptomaniac tendencies, the girl who'd just come back from heaven was the strongest one there.

After rinsing her plate, she turned off the TV in the living room and headed for the stairs, rubbing her tired eyes. She froze, however, at the sight of the small white card on the bottom step that she hadn't noticed up until then.

Her heart skipped a beat and, automatically, her mind went back to the night when she'd brought Giles back home from Spike's factory. After putting him to sleep on his couch with a strong dose of cough syrup and tea, Buffy had set about cleaning the house where the police hadn't.

Thrown carelessly in the trash was a note. Written in white with black ink, Buffy knew this was something Giles had refused to show Sunnydale's finest when they had questioned him about Jenny Calendar's murder. She thought he'd burn it, but he'd just thrown it away like that...

She'd been too curious to resist. She'd read the note and, even now, she could remember the bile that rose in her throat at the disgusting, horrifying act.

An act done by her boyfriend.

Or rather, ex boyfriend. Because her current boyfriend, however evil he used to be, was always one for a quick, clean kill. He didn't like torture, just plain old kills. Like her.

As she thought this, she wondered how she used to put up a brave front in front of Willow when the redhead asked how she could tolerate her boyfriend's wild tendencies. Now, that brave front had become her reality. You ate people? Okay. You didn't eat people? Okay. That summed up her attitude post Death # 2. She still pretended to care a lot before her friends, of course; this was something she hid even from Spike.

Spike.

Shakily, Buffy picked up the white card and read it. _Come on up, _it said in his old fashioned writing.

Buffy swallowed. He didn't know, probably, what Angelus had done with Giles. He probably meant it as an innocent act of seduction. A part of her mind that was completely detached with her emotional side laughed, scoffing, at that. Innocent act of seduction. Ha.

Buffy tried to lighten up. Holding the walls for support, Buffy headed up the stairs, only to stop again when she reached the first landing.

A pile of white rose petals rested in the middle of the landing, another note on top of it.

Her heart, already hammering in her chest, sped up again. She picked up the card. _Off with the clothes_.

She let out a brief chuckle. Spike sure knew how to make her laugh. Even though if he said that to her, she'd give him a biting retort. Obeying the instructions on the card, Buffy took off her uniform from the restaurant and folded them, draping them over one arm to head up the stairs, only in her underwear, now.

There was a trail of yellow rose petals, now, leading her to her bedroom. Buffy wondered how Spike had known Dawn and Willow wouldn't be in. Probably found out from Dawn. She was punished for a long time, now, and the only chances she got at fun were taken with a pounce.

Even though the first two cards had been perfectly harmless, Buffy's heart quickened its pace when she saw the third card propped up outside the door to her bedroom.

_Don't touch the lingerie. I'm taking it off._

She suppressed a laugh. She had to act annoyed, not pleased, at Spike's show of his tenderness. Taking a deep breath, Buffy made her best annoyed face and pushed her door open.

And almost fainted.

Strewn all over the floor and her bed were red rose petals and, on top of those, pictures of her. Slaying, sitting, standing, crying, laughing, frowning, walking, in Spike's bed, half dressed, in her DoubleHell uniform, trying to smoke, dancing, drinking, at the beach – almost everything she'd probably done in her recent years was on photos, showing her what an excellent stalker Spike had been last year. Pictures of her that had clearly been cut out from full photos with others lay, too, everywhere, in no particular order. Every available surface was covered with her face, looking up at her. There was one thing common about them all: she had a spark in her eyes, an enthusiasm for life that was gone, now, when she looked into the mirror.

She should have been flattered.

She was scared.

Suddenly, she heard him approach her from behind and circle her nude form. As his lips dropped to caress her throat, he whispered, "Like it?"

She hated it. "Yes. Thank you."

He stopped kissing her and turned her bodily around. Frowning, he asked, "What's the matter? Not too enthused, I see."

She'd learned to tell him what was bothering her. Usually, he had a strange but nevertheless effective solution to it. She said, "You were there, weren't you, almost four years ago when Angel—I meant, _Angelus_ killed Miss Calendar and put her body in Giles' bed?"

Spike swallowed. "I remember. He bragged quite a lot about that one." He stroked her golden hair. "What's it to do with this?"

Buffy nodded, distractedly turning around in his arms to look at the roses and the pictures. "Did he ever tell you what else he'd put in Giles' apartment that night?"

Spike frowned deeply and shook his head. "He tended to keep his tricks to 'imself, mostly. Bragged so much, you'd ask him; he wanted that, you know. The recognition of his abilities in your curiosity. But I never gave 'im the chance to patronize me. He did enough of it, anyway. Never asked 'im what he did that night in detail."

A shudder passed through Buffy at his words. Moving closer to seek comfort in his cold body, she said, "He lit candles and scattered petals everywhere. There..." She swallowed before continuing. " Th-there was a note, asking Giles to go upstairs to his bedroom, where he'd put Jenny in his bed, and there was a sketch – one he'd made – next to her."

Spike was silent for the longest time, just holding her close against the memories, her face pressed into his chest, her arms hidden in his coat to protect her from the sudden cold in the room. Then, he sighed.

"Bolloxed it up, eh?"

Buffy looked up when he tossed a hard, cold laugh in her direction. She frowned, trying to make out his expression in the moonlight. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, Buffy," He pulled away to leave her unclothed in the centre of the room, running a hand through his gelled hair. "I always try to do something right, and always – _always!_ – something goes bloody wrong!" He hit the wall beside the door at that, and she winced, involuntarily, at the crack in the paint. He fell silent, standing there, drawing in unnecessary, angry breaths as she watched.

Buffy waited till he was calmer before approaching him. She wondered how the positions had changed – now, it was she who was comforting him. Why? Well, she'd have to find out...

"Spike," She touched his shoulder with a soft hand. He turned his head halfway towards her. "It isn't your fault. You tried to do something for me. The fact that I've got so many bad experiences doesn't make the magnitude of your effort any lesser. There's something wrong with me, and my life. I-I really like what you've done..." She broke off at his heartless chuckle, then sighed and said, "Fine, I'm too spooked to like it. But if Angel hadn't been in my life before--" She broke off to laugh dryly at herself. "If Angel hadn't been in my life... so much would have been different... not necessarily better, but then again..."

"Slayer," Spike broke into her thoughts, "What're you getting at?"

Buffy bit her lip. What was she trying to say? "Spike... I just wanted to say thank you, for doing this. It means a lot."

Spike said nothing to that. But when she tried to pull him towards her, he didn't resist and allowed her to envelop him awkwardly in her arms. She wasn't used to tender moments with Spike. When they happened... they made her feel out of place.

"So, what now?"

Spike's voice pierced her thoughts. "Hm?" She cross-questioned him.

"What do we do now, Slayer?" He spoke slowly, so as to make her understand his speech.

Buffy shrugged. "Well... not really in the mood for much, now..."

He sighed and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. "'s what I thought."

"I guess I'll take a shower and get changed," She spoke to herself, "Then we can grab a bite and then make cookies for Dawn..."

Spike groaned.

Buffy chuckled. "We'll stay in, tonight. Watch movies, tell stories." She pulled him down for a kiss. After raiding his mouth, gently, she whispered against his lips, "And you can tell me how, exactly, you came by all those pictures."


	3. Kisses to Steal

_**Beds of Pebbles**_

_Summary: Chucky's dad on 'Rugrats' says that you're always safe in your own bed. However, a certain blonde begs to differ... Set in the middle of disaster that was Season 6. Angsty B/S (what else can it be?)_

_Disclaimer: 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and all associated with it belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. I own nothing._

_A/N: Spontaneous fiction I couldn't stop from bursting out of me when I was watching 'Rugrats' with my nephews. The name in the brackets is just to indicate who I'm dealing with in what chapter. Very short, three chapters, indefinite ending. Still reading it? Then let me know what you think. _

_**3. Kisses to Steal**_

Buffy's eyes burned with boredom; boredom that stemmed from Anya's extensive wedding planning.

She was sitting on the table at the Magic Box, going through Anya's guest list for the umpteenth time, not actually seeing it. She's been through it once and had okayed all the invitees. But, in between all her pacing, Anya kept adding people and asking Buffy if, somehow, they would muck up the dress symmetry.

Buffy had seen the dresses. Nothing could wreck the dress symmetry because, after all, there was none; the dresses were just huge, shapeless garments of radioactive material. They were, in themselves, a disaster.

Nothing else could wreck Anya's wedding.

Well, demons could try, but hey, why else had Anya called Buffy?

She sighed as Anya wrung her hands, pacing the length of the shop. "Anya," Buffy started, only to stop when Anya suddenly turned towards her.

"Yeesss?" Anya didn't lose her patronizing tone under any circumstances.

Buffy felt, rather than saw, Willow, Xander and Dawn turn their gazes on her. They were wondering, she knew, what she had to say that had disturbed the uninterrupted rhythm of their tasks.

"Anya," Buffy said, "Why don't you sit down for a while?" Anya' eyes widened at the suggestion and the Slayer hurried to add, "Because I think we've done a lot of work already and if you just sit down and take a rest we might be able to work better..." She trailed off when Anya scoffed derisively and shook her head.

"Rest?" She echoed. "_Rest?_" She shook her head, almost pityingly. But then, Anya was incapable of pity at times, so this was highly improbable. "Buffy, there is no time to rest. There's just three weeks left, and we haven't even decided what flowers we want!"

Buffy looked to Xander incredulously. He shrugged helplessly. Buffy sighed and turned to Anya.

"See, Anya, that's the point," Buffy pointed out mildly, "There's _three_ weeks left."

Willow and Dawn's heads flipped from Anya to Buffy, Buffy to Anya, as though watching a tennis match.

Anya's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to say something but just then, the bell jingled and all heads flipped towards the door to see who was interrupting.

Xander's mouth twisted into a contemptuous line. "Oh, look who it is," He drawled, "The Vamp with the Metal Chip! Now, just why can't we lock you away, please tell me?"

Spike frowned but ignored Xander. Surprisingly, it was Anya who came to his defence.

"Xander," She scolded, "We don't insult potential customers!"

Xander stared at her. "Ahn," He said, uncomprehendingly, "This is _Spike!_"

"Who's become a regular customer of my candles," She insisted, walking to behind the counter. "If he buys nothing, or after he buys something, you can say whatever you want."

Spike chuckled in response. "Very smooth, Anyanka. Perhaps I won't buy those candles after all..." He made a move to turn and leave the shop.

"NO!" Anya leaned over the counter and grabbed his coat sleeve. "Spike, I'm s-sorry about Xander's remarks. Don't go!" Then, remembering something, she grinned. "You know you're invited to the wedding, right? We haven't figured out where to seat you, yet, but it's an evening thing, so not many worries. Ooh!" Her eyes widened as an idea hit her and she tightened her hold on his arm. "Buffy doesn't have a date!" Both of them looked at Buffy, who looked back like a deer caught in the headlights. "You can sit where her date would have sat!"

Spike smiled. "I appreciate the sentiment, Anya, really. But the Slayer's too pretty to remain dateless." His eyes met said Slayer's and his smiled became tender. "'m sure some lucky bloke will have scooped her up, by then."

Buffy smiled slightly at this. Only Spike saw it, and the blush it came with.

"Speaking of scooping," Xander's dry voice pulled everyone's attention to him. "We aren't serving pigs, rats or humans, Spike. If you come, you'll have to promise not to eat the guests. Oh, but wait!" Xander snapped his fingers and grinned. "You _can't_ eat the guests, can you?" He shook his head, smiling. "So silly of me to forget..."

Spike stiffened. He, imperceptibly, looked at Buffy for help. She bit her lip.

Again, it was Anya who intervened. "Don't pay any attention to Xander, Spike. You know him and his stupid remarks. They don't matter."

Spike gave Xander a long, hard look. "You're right. He doesn't matter."

Xander made a move to say something more but Buffy put an arm on his shoulder, restraining him. She said something to him, so softly even Spike couldn't pick it up, her eyes downcast. Xander's jaw tightened but he nodded.

"Wait here, Spike. Me and Willow will get the goods." She nodded at Willow, who stood up.

"Willow and I," Dawn corrected from where she revised for a test.

Anya frowned. "No, Dawn, there's no need. You stay here. I'll get the candles with Willow."

Dawn rolled her eyes as Willow gave Spike a tiny smile as she passed him to go down to the basement. Spike nodded in response then, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, turned to the table where the rest sat

Dawn gave him a sullen wave that, he knew, stemmed from her displeasure at his not taking her side during the fiasco on Buffy's birthday. Xander stared at him, his gaze not friendly. Spike ignored him and turned to Buffy, who was staring at him, too. But the second their eyes met, she dropped her gaze, suddenly very interested in the sheet of paper on her lap.

A rush of frustration passed through Spike at her pretence. She wished they could drop the game, already... the distance their secret put between her friends and her affected their relationship day-to-day, too.

He didn't stop staring at her as she bent over whatever work DemonGirl had assigned her. Xander, too, didn't stop looking at him. So he noticed when the vampire didn't stop watching Buffy.

And, of course, he mentioned it.

"So, Spike," Xander's voice made everyone look up. "Are you planning on building another bot of Buffy here or are you just fascinated with her hair colour? Must remind you of your slut, Harmony, eh?"

Spike looked as though he'd been slapped. Dawn's face flared in anger on Spike's behalf while Buffy's eyes widened as she watched, both, Spike and Xander.

"See, Buffy," Xander continued good-naturedly, "I told you to let your hair stay brown. Now you're reminding Spike of his girlfriends!"

Buffy looked at Spike. His hurt eyes, eyes that told her he was silent for her, looked back at her, waiting for her to say something. She swallowed. Said nothing.

It seemed he was done waiting. A look of contempt, for Buffy, not Xander, flickered onto his face. Shaking his head disgustedly, he turned on his heel to leave.

Buffy stood up to stop him but her words died on her tongue as Xander gave her a look. "Sit down," He said out of the corner of his mouth.

Anya and Willow, who were coming up the steps with the candles, tried to stop him. "Spike!" Anya cried out. "We've got them, don't worry, they're all here!"

He just said, bitterly, as he passed them, "Keep them, Anyanka, don' need them anymore."

And the bell jingled after his as he shut the door.

Dawn started yelling at Xander, then, while he chuckled at the vampire's reaction. Anya, cross at having missed a sale, jumped aboard the bandwagon that was angry with Xander and started yelling, too. Only Willow noticed the way Buffy was half standing, face pale as a sheet.

"Buffy?" Willow's soft, worried voice broke through Xander's protestations about his innocence in the whole matter. "Are you alright?"

Immediately, three more pairs of eyes focused on Buffy. Xander frowned. "Why're you still standing? Sit down."

Buffy swallowed and turned to Xander. "Xander," She said, throatily because her throat was so dry, "Get bent."

As Xander's eyes filled with hurt at the gesture, Buffy threw down the list she was holding and started walking, quickly, to the door that Spike had just left through.

But she wasn't quick enough. Because just before she reached the door, Xander grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. "What did you just say, Buffy?" He demanded.

"You heard me," She told him, wrenching her arm out of his grip, "Get bent! Fuck off! Bite me!"

It was Xander's turn to look like he'd been slapped. He took a step back. He was silent for a while, staring at her with horror-filled eyes, before he shuddered and said, accusingly, "You know you're taking Spike's side over mine?"

"Yeah," was Buffy's reply, totally calm, "I think it's high time someone did."

And without waiting for a reply, she turned and left the Magic Box, the jingling bell leaving three women to cheer silently for the slight blonde.

She caught up with Spike easily. He was only halfway down the empty street when she jogged up behind him. "Spike!" She yelled, knowing she was within hearing range. "Spike!"

He didn't slow down or turn around. Rather, his pace quickened, and he took a sharp turn into an alley that made Buffy run faster.

She reached the alley. It was empty. Her heart throbbed in her throat as she scanned for him. She'd given up hope when suddenly, a hand curled around her waist, pulling her back into the lean body that it belonged to.

She smiled as she turned around to face him. "Hey."

Spike's face was half hidden in shadows. "'ello, pet."

Buffy's heart, which had relaxed for a mere minute, resumed thudding a quick pace against her eardrums. She swallowed hard and said, "I-I'm so sorry, Spike, for letting him speak to you like that. I g-guess I just wanted to keep our secret, which is hardly any justification. Heck," She gave a bitter laugh like his, "There is _no_ justification. I'm just trying to m-make things easier on myself, again. I... I'm sorry, S-Spike, really, I—"

"Shh," Spike pressed a long, thin finger to her lips. "It's happened before, luv." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "What makes this time different is that you came after me. At once."

Buffy shivered. But not from the cold, rather from the his gentle nips at the junction of her neck and throat. "I'm sorry." She whispered.

Spike jerked her body up for a bruising kiss, then. Buffy's hands entangled in his hair as she gasped into his mouth. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and push her roughly against the wall, his hand at the hem of her sweater, getting ready to stage an invasion.

When they pulled apart for a breath, Buffy gasped, leaning over him as she caught her breath. Against her earlobe, Spike muttered, "But one thing, though, Slayer." He waited for her to look at him. She didn't disappoint him. "Why?" He whispered.

Smiling, Buffy leaned up to kiss him. It was gentle and chaste and, when they pulled apart, she murmured against his lips, "Nobody gets to insult the man I love."

His unneeded breath hitched. His eyes widened. His mouth, lips swollen with kisses, fell open.

She smiled a sphinx-like smile, enjoying his reaction all the way.

And when she returned to the Magic Box, a good half an hour later, looking shabbier but happier than before, the smile hadn't disappeared.

Everyone looked up as she entered. She didn't go fully in, just stood at the door, half inside, half outside. Xander stood up, immediately, and said, "Buffy, I'm sorry, that was kind of wrong of me to be so rude to Spike."

It took him a lot of courage – not to mention the yelling of three women – to do that. Buffy smiled. "All's forgiven, Xander."

Then she turned to Anya, who instantaneously barked, "Shut the door, you're letting in the cold!"

But Buffy just stood there and said, "You better not have assigned anyone else my date's place." She grinned and pulled Spike into the shop. "I got myself a date."

_A/N: I hope you read the note on top that says it's only 3 chapters long. So, this is it. The end. Let me know what you think._


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